


Dressing Up

by isis_astarte_diana



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bondage and Discipline, Breathplay, Corsetry, F/F, Hypnotism, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mirror Sex, Missy Is Her Own Warning, Nipple Clamps, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:54:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27488416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isis_astarte_diana/pseuds/isis_astarte_diana
Summary: "If you wanted to try it on, poppet, you should have just asked."Missy catches you in her dressing room fumbling with one of her corsets and steps in.
Relationships: Missy (Doctor Who)/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 51





	Dressing Up

**Author's Note:**

> I can't justify this and I won't try. Disclaimer, as always, for unrealistic and unhealthy BDSM practices (and corsetry), but it's porn and you know what you're here for.

You frown into the full length mirror, tugging at the stiff ivory fabric where it sits awkwardly against your skin. The clasps at the front glisten in the rosy light of Missy’s vast walk-in wardrobe. You turn this way and that, inspecting the tangle of laces hanging at the small of your back, trying to decipher the first step you should take now.

You’ve taken one of Missy’s corsets _off_ for her often enough; you didn’t expect to have this much trouble putting one _on_.

Reaching back to straighten up the modesty panel, you wince at your reflection. It’s an unflattering sight. Standing there in your bra and knickers with the loose corset fastened around you, you feel utterly ridiculous and less confident than ever. With a heavy sigh, you resign yourself to taking it off and cast your eyes down to the fastenings beneath your bust.

“Need a hand?”

Missy’s voice makes you squeak, your hands falling still, arms crossing awkwardly over your torso as if you could conceal what you’ve been doing. With your eyes cast down you twist around to face her.

“Sorry,” you murmur, glancing up at her through your lashes. She stands in the doorway with her arms folded. A threatening smile plays across her red lips and you swiftly drop your gaze once more. “God, I’m so sorry, Missy, this is really rude of me.”

“ _Terribly_ rude,” she agrees, and you bite your lip. Her tone leaves you feeling thoroughly reprimanded. “Going through my things like this, without my permission? You _are_ a naughty girl.”

“I’m _so_ sorry,” you say again. “I was- oh, God, I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“You were curious.” It’s not a question. You nod anyway, risking another tentative look up at her. She cocks her head and purses her lips, closing the distance to lift your chin with her fingers. Your breath hitches at the look in her eyes. “That’s in your nature.”

“Is it?” You shift uncomfortably under her scrutiny, feeling heat rise to your face.

“Oh, certainly.” She presses a soft kiss to your lips, just swiftly, just enough to make you relax the barest amount. “If you wanted to try it on, poppet, you should have just asked. You’ve gotten yourself in quite a tangle, haven’t you?”

She smiles wider, that playful grin that shows her teeth and the faint crinkles at the corners of her eyes and nose. The sight of it only ever spells trouble.

 _Delicious_ trouble, when it’s aimed at you. _Usually_.

“Yeah,” you agree softly. “A bit.”

She clicks her tongue and gives you a sympathetic look. “Don’t worry, dearest. I’m here now. I’ll get you laced up nicely.”

Before you can respond, she lands firm hands on your hips and guides you to turn your back on her again. In the mirror you can see her over your shoulder.

“First, you need to take this _ridiculous_ thing off.” Missy tuts, popping the clasps of your bra open with a single skilful movement of her fingers. You gasp, pressing the fabric back to your chest when it starts to fall. She scoffs. “Honestly, you human women. So frightened of your own delightful bodies.”

“Delightful?” You soften at her words, and she takes the opportunity to reach under your arms and cover your hands with her own. “Are you sure about that?”

“Positive.” Her lips brush your bare shoulder, making you shiver. “Just look at yourself, poppet.”

“I’d rather not,” you admit, turning your face up and away from the mirror. She tugs you back against her with her arm across your breasts, her other hand sliding up to cup your throat. With firm pressure to your jaw she eases you back to look at your reflection.

“Look,” she says again, firmer this time. “Look how lovely you are.” With the height afforded to her by her boots she rests her chin on your shoulder, meeting your eyes in the mirror. “Obey your Mistress.”

The tension leaves your body in a single heavy breath. Your neck relaxes under her fingers, leaving you to look straight ahead into your own reflected face. There’s a faintly glazed look in your eyes. “Not fair,” you murmur, but there’s no venom in the words.

“I know.” She doesn’t sound even slightly apologetic. You shift your hands where they’re pinned to your chest, holding on to her restraining forearm instead. She nuzzles into the side of your neck, placing a soft kiss there. “But I want you to see.”

“See what?” The dazed tone slowly fades from your voice as you begin to accept the state of hypnotism. Fighting it only makes it unpleasant; when you embrace it, the warm fog that wraps around your mind becomes a comfort.

“How beautifully you obey.”

You watch, perfectly acquiescent, as she removes your unfastened bra and bares your breasts to the mirror. Her other arm crosses your chest, elbow bent at almost a perfect right angle, pale fingers stark against your neck and applying only the very faintest pressure. She drops the offending undergarment to the floor and brings her hand up to cup your breast.

“You see?” She speaks in an encouraging murmur. “How well you fit into my hands?”

Her thumb swipes across your nipple and you inhale sharply. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Good girl.” She tightens her grip just barely on your throat, her cool fingers pressing either side of your windpipe. “You look magnificent. Say it for me.”

Swallowing hard, you feel your throat move under her hand. “Missy,” you whisper. “I don’t- I’m not-”

“ _Obey_ ,” she says again, that breathy hypnotic undercurrent back in her voice. “Obey me.”

“I look magnificent,” you echo, as if in a dream. Repeating the words almost makes you believe them. She lets out a soft hum of approval.

“That’s right, my girl.” Her breath fans across your collarbone and chills you. “You always do, you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress.” There’s a lump in the back of your throat and a bizarre urge to cry stinging at your eyes. You watch in the mirror as they turn wet with unshed tears. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” She releases your breast and reaches up to stroke your cheek. “Be good for me, poppet. Keep watching.”

The loss of her touch makes you whimper. Missy soothes you with a kiss to your shoulder blade, her quick fingers straightening the modesty panel over your bare back.

“In future,” she murmurs, adjusting the laces that criss-cross at the top and bottom of the corset, “you _will_ come to me for help with this.”

“In future?” Your fingers twitch at your sides and you cock your head, inspecting your semi-naked body without a trace of the usual disgust. You view your reflection as if it were another woman entirely and find that, in doing so, you see it anew.

“I doubt this is the last time you’ll be curious.” The fabric tugs at your waist when she finishes adjusting it and you twitch. “Tomorrow, we’ll visit a corsetiere. A human one. The finest I know. I’ll have you one made of your very own.” She pauses, her teeth flashing with the familiar carnivorous smile as she peers at you in the mirror. “Perhaps a dozen. For different occasions.”

“Missy-”

You cut off with a gasp when she finally takes hold of the looped laces either side of the small of your back and _pulls_ , drawing the edges of the corset closer together. The fabric across your stomach draws tighter, too stiff to allow any give, and the faintest pressure sets in to the soft flesh and muscle underneath.

The compression feels bizarrely like an embrace.

“You won’t have to wear one every day,” she reassures, with another faint kiss to your back. “But you’ll start to enjoy it. You’ll start to _crave_ it, and when you do, you may find that you _want_ to.”

“Is that what happened to you?”

She chuckles at your words, nipping at your shoulder with sharp teeth. You whimper. “It’s not quite for the same for a Time Lady, dear. They never bothered me as they do your species. My body works differently.”

You nod shallowly and she straightens up the new slack in the laces at the base of your spine, the bottom of your shoulder blades, once more.

Another sharp tug at the laces and discomfort begins to set in. Your body resists this unnatural imprisonment, constricted by thick brocade and strong bones, the muscles in your core pushing against the unyielding cage of fabric. Skin pinches for a moment under the satin-trimmed edging that sits just above your hips, but Missy makes a tiny adjustment and this sensation vanishes. Left in its wake is a warm, firm pressure across your midsection and an odd feeling of changing shape.

The heavy breath you let out through parted lips is almost entirely born of desire.

Of course, this doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Can you feel it yet?” You nod, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth. “How your body _bends_ to my will, whether it wants to or not?”

“Yes, “ you manage, breathless. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Her fingernails, trimmed to the quick and painted deep red, trail along the new curve at your waist. You watch the movement with reverence. You can’t feel them through the fabric but the reminder that you are _different_ now, that the form you know so well is manipulated and squeezed into something _else_ at her hand, is enough to drag a soft moan from your lips. “So well-behaved for your Mistress.”

The aching anticipation when she adjusts the slack once more makes you prickle with goosebumps. Struggling to comprehend this new shape of yours, you press your hands to your stomach, feeling the resistance of your imprisoned flesh pushing at the fabric to no avail. As you drag your hands over the corset the faint pressure of your fingers against your stomach, sensitive from being so compressed, is startlingly erotic. Without realising that you’re doing it, you follow the slight curve up to your breasts.

With your flesh shifted and rearranged like this they appear larger. The effect, overall, is one of _heaviness_. While full and proud, they sit obscenely above the line of the corset. You frown, trying to decide how you feel about the sight.

“Go on,” Missy prompts, and you realise for the first time how intently she’s been watching your explorations. “Don’t be shy. _Touch_ them.”

“Yes, Missy,” you whisper to her reflection. You cup the soft flesh in your hands, measuring the unfamiliar weight. Something about the fullness makes them more sensitive and your breath hitches at your own touch. Blood throbs hot through your palms. Experimentally, you stroke both thumbs across your erect nipples and the spark of pleasure it induces makes your thighs clench.

“Good girl.” In the mirror, her red lips are parted. Something dark stirs in her expression. “Hands down, now. We have a ways to go yet.”

The threat makes you squeak as you obey.

This time, when she pulls on the laces, it’s decidedly uncomfortable. You let out a shuddering breath, hands flying up to your stomach where a new and more intense tightness presents itself. The force with which she tugs makes your stance falter, bare feet shifting on the cool floor. The crushing pressure to your torso is inescapable.

“Relax,” she soothes, perverse pleasure obvious in her voice. “It’s getting harder to breathe, isn’t it?”

You nod mutely, captivated by the sight of your own heaving chest in the mirror, an obvious flush across your collarbones from something other than warmth.

“That’s good.” Her fingers follow the curve of your waist again, which is sharper than it had been even a moment ago. “You just need to learn how to breathe _with_ it. Not from here,” she presses her palm to the front of the corset, highlighting the area where you feel the most resistance. “Up here, instead.” Her fingers slide higher, coming to rest just between your breasts. The touch is firm. “Try it.”

Eyes fluttering closed, you draw a long breath, focusing on the pressure of her fingers. She makes a soft noise of approval.

“There you go. You see? It’s not so hard.”

“No,” you agree on the exhale. “I can do that.”

“Of course you can.” When she moves her hand, you can still feel the faint echo of her touch. You concentrate on breathing into it. “Nice, big breath, now. We’re getting there.”

You do as she says, losing the air in a wavering moan when she cinches the corset tighter still. Your thighs tremble where they hold you up and, without thinking, you reach up to brace your hand on the wall beside the mirror. Missy chuckles, enjoying the spectacle.

“You look _delightful_ , poppet.” Looping the vast length of slack around her hand, she takes hold of your waist. It’s dizzying to feel how much _smaller_ it is than usual. “Open your eyes. Look at yourself.”

You can’t bite back a whimper at the sight of your constricted body. It’s a crude feminine figure that you see in the mirror rather than your own; the heavy breasts, the sharp curve of waistline, the lewd flare of hips. Your underwear, no longer fitting as well as it had done due to the shifting of flesh from the corset, sits low on your hips as if it were just a bit too small. The softness of your stomach below the line of ivory brocade bulges obscenely.

Your body is barely recognisable. You squirm in her hands and she holds you tighter. The sensation of being _grasped_ in such a way through the strict bones is unbearably erotic. Mewling pitifully, you squeeze your thighs tightly together.

“You’re struggling, aren’t you?” She leans in to trail her lips along your overheated shoulder and you shiver. “It’s difficult. Uncomfortable.”

With a soft whine, you nod your agreement.

“But you love it.”

“Yes,” you admit on a harsh and shallow breath. “Yes, Mistress.”

“We can get it tighter.” With cool fingers she guides your other hand to the wall so that you brace yourself either side of the mirror. “Lean forwards a bit.”

The way that your breasts hang when you do as instructed makes you wince. The pressure across your waist eases with the movement, and you breathe deeper for a moment.

“Oh, _look_ at this.” She places her palm on your jutting hip, her thumb tracing the shape of it where your knickers have ridden low. “Such a beautiful creature for me to shape as I see fit.”

“Thank you, Missy.” You prickle with delight under her praise.

“Oh, don’t thank me _yet_ , dearest.” She moves away again, wrapping the laces tightly around each hand. “This is where it gets _exciting_.”

The choked noise you make when she yanks on the laces, almost pulling you away from the wall, would be humiliating at any other time, but as you scrabble for purchase and steady yourself it sounds absolutely _profane_. Feeling yet more freedom robbed from you, the protesting flesh of your torso squeezed ever tighter, has you dizzy with need. Shallow breaths leave you faintly lightheaded.

“Tight enough, do you think?” Missy’s finger hooks beneath the crossed laces, tight to the modesty panel that covers your back. You nod emphatically, struggling to catch your breath, and she tuts. “No, I don’t think so, poppet. Let’s have another half inch, just for mummy.”

When she plants her knee at the base of your spine you cry out, pushing your weight heavily against your palms flush to the wall. The aching force of it transfers almost effortlessly through a final, almighty tug on the laces and draws the corset so tight that you _do_ stumble, straightening your back in an effort to stop the encroaching pressure and succeeding only in cutting off your own breath at the diaphragm.

“Much better,” she croons, dropping her foot back to the ground with a click of her heel. “Now we just have to tie it off.”

She makes short work of the knots, skilfully maintaining the tension in the laces all the while so that no attempt at squirming or heavy breathing can win back even a millimetre of relief. When she lets go, the corset stays put, squeezing you tighter than you’d imagined was possible.

“Lovely,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “All wrapped up with a bow.”

Missy’s palms land on your waist again, stroking the new curve there slowly and reverently. You tremble in her hands. The cartoonish shape of your body in the mirror is a dizzying sight; though that could just be the way that she’s looking at you, like you’re something she wants to eat while it’s still alive and squirming.

Or, perhaps, it’s the lack of oxygen.

“Missy,” you barely manage to whisper. “I think- I think I need it a bit looser.”

She tuts, smacking your hands away when you reach for the clasps at the front of the corset. “Nonsense, poppet. This is _exactly_ as you should be.”

Eyes fluttering closed, you whine at her words. “I don’t- it _hurts_.”

“No it doesn’t. You just need to get _used_ to it, and you will.” Her hands slide forwards to cover your stomach and you feel her looping something around you to fasten at your back. “We’ll nip those silly ideas in the bud right now.”

The _click_ of something locking into place makes you gasp, and when you open your eyes you see that she’s positioned a leather belt, a few inches wide, around the narrowest part of your constricted waist. With a sharp smile she holds up a small silver key for you to see in the mirror.

You twist around, crying out with alarm, and barely manage to see the glinting of a padlock holding the belt closed at your back. Your heartbeat judders through the stiff fabric and unforgiving bones so that you can feel it all the way down to your hips. “No, no, that’s not _fa_ ir-”

“Neither is sneaking around in my wardrobe, dearest.” Missy slips the key into her pocket. “Curiosity killed the human. _Well_ , usually _I_ did, but in this case I’ll make a special exception.”

“Please, Missy,” you beg weakly. “God, I can’t wear this for long, not like this.”

“Of course you can. And you _will_.” She fingers the padlock, letting the weight of it thud against your back, reverberating through the corset. “This is a crude solution for today, but when we get yours made I’ll be sure to have some locks added. I’d hate for you to get yourself in a knot trying to loosen it without my permission.”

“How am I supposed to sit, or bend down, or-?”

“With _tremendous_ difficulty, I should think.” She holds your squirming hips still. “But you’ll manage. Unless you just want to stand still and look pretty all day, which wouldn’t bother me in the slightest.”

“I don’t _like_ this,” you protest, and she chuckles darkly.

“Is that right?” Her palm slides lower, following the fabric of your underwear to cup your mound through the material. With firm pressure from her fingers she presses the gusset up against your vulva and you realise, for the first time, how _soaked_ you are, how achingly sensitive you feel. The touch makes you whimper. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

“Missy…” Her name is an unsteady plea. You don’t know whether you’re asking for your freedom back or for _more_ of this delightful torture, but you know that standing here, your breathing shallow, your waist cruelly deformed, might be the death of you if something doesn’t _give_ very soon.

“You beg so prettily, poppet.” She presses harder, her fingers tight to your clitoris, making you cry out and clench your thighs around her hand. “It won’t help, of course, but it does please me _endlessly_.”

“Please,” you whisper again, and she makes soft noise of delight. Her other hand slides up the length of the corset, stroking firmly over your engorged breast and sending a jolt of pleasure down your spine. “Please, Mistress.”

“Oh, that’s lovely,” she coos, her fingers climbing steadily higher until she once more wraps her delicate hand around the front of your throat. “What a pretty picture you make.”

In the mirror, you watch her fingers tighten, restricting your breath just the smallest bit. Coupled with the punishing tightness of the corset it’s enough to leave you woozy and panting. Her other hand begins to move, fingers drawing tight circles against your clitoris through the wet fabric so that your hips jerk. She presses herself to your back, propping her chin up on your shoulder to watch your every movement.

“My sweet little human.” Her fingertips push harder into the soft flesh under your jaw, your racing heart beating against the pressure. Your mouth falls open with a breathless moan. “All flushed and breathless for your Mistress. You look so thoroughly _owned_.”

Her words have you crying out, pushing into her hands, choking yourself and rocking your hips into the stimulation. You reach for her merciless fingers and she clicks her tongue, loud against your ear.

“No touching,” she scolds. “Hands on the wall. Just _watch_.”

Squirming and whining pitifully, you do as she says. The heat that darkens the skin of your face and chest is prickly, causing sweat to rise on your forehead, on the curve of your neck where she drags her slick tongue. She speeds up the motions of her fingers on your throbbing clitoris, working pleasure into you with unwavering precision, turning your breaths shallower still beneath her grip and the pitiless compression of your torso.

“I like you in white,” she observes, her blue eyes flicking over the corset. “We’ll certainly have at least one like this. Something practical, for every day, in a few colours. Black and purple, as well, I think.”

“If you like,” you squeak, feeling an altogether different tension begin to bloom in your abdomen.

“You can choose one. For when you’ve been a good girl.” She grins, scraping her teeth along your vulnerable neck, just next to where her fingers rest. “And I’ll choose a _special_ one for when you’ve been a bad girl. Something heavy. Leather, perhaps. I can always add some accessories.”

“A- accessories?” The obvious relish she takes in her threats is unbearably arousing, even as the words strike fear into you.

“Oh, yes. Some rings, I think, to cuff you to. Maybe something to keep the clamps in place.” You bow under her increased pace, crying out, and she chuckles at the way your thighs squeeze her hand. “I’ll make sure I can lace it up particularly tight. Only when you’ve been _properly_ naughty, of course. Like today.”

“I’m sorry,” you breathe, shuddering in her arms. Your legs tremble violently. “I’m sorry, Mistress.”

“I think you’ll be _more_ than sorry soon enough, poppet.” The knot behind your navel draws tighter, the excruciating pleasure of her ministrations through your underwear sending every nerve into spasm. “But let’s not dwell on _horrid_ things just now.”

As her grip tightens even further, your breathing falters with a cry. You come apart in her hands, barely managing to hold yourself up, the force of your orgasm rocketing through you like liquid fire. She works you through it with tireless strokes of her talented fingers, not granting you a breath until the wave has passed and you relax against her chest.

“Such a good girl,” she murmurs, lips fastening to your neck the moment she lets go. You pant for breaths that catch low in your lungs and are reminded immediately of the need to modulate your own breathing. When you start to steady yourself again, recalling the spot at the base of your breastbone where she’d pressed her fingers, Missy praises, “that’s right. There you go.”

You whimper at the loss when she steps away, leaving you to lean heavily into the wall, watching the sweat curve down your own reflected face.

“I have some work to do today, and you’ve proven _quite_ the distraction, you little minx.” She pinches your arse sharply and you flinch. “But you can keep me company, and assist me.”

“Of course,” you concede in a shuddering gasp. “Anything you want.”

“Oh, you might regret saying that, poppet.”

She’s behind you again in an instant, wrapping quick fingers around your wrists and snatching them away from the wall. You jerk in her grasp, forced to stand upright once more, the rigid posture enforced by the corset offering you no relief. Leather works its way around both wrists and she locks them into place at the fastening of the belt, crossed in the small of your back. The position forces your shoulders back and your already-jutting breasts further out in front of you.

“There we are. Nice and snug.” Before you can protest, she hooks her fingers into the waistband of your knickers and guides them over the unnatural width of your hips, letting them drop the ground around your ankles. “You’re going to be a tremendous help to me today.”

“How’s that?” You test your bonds and find them strict. “When I can’t use my hands?”

“Oh, you won’t need them.” From the impossible depths of her pocket she produces a length of silver chain and you shrink at the sight of the pair of tweezer clamps it connects. “Just your lovely mouth. Turn around, now.”

She guides you with firm hands until you’re facing her once more, stepping out of your underwear as you turn. Her fingers quickly catch your left nipple and the cool, rubber-coated pincers of the clamp follow. She cocks her head to watch your face while she tightens them.

When the sharp pinch makes you yelp, your nipples oversensitive from the pressure of the corset and your recent orgasm, she smiles that carnivorous smile. With a flick to the metal, sparking painful pleasure that has you sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, she fixes the other clamp in place on your right nipple. Stinging tightness like a needle through the flesh ignites in both breasts and you can’t bite back a soft groan.

Missy takes a sweeping step backwards to inspect her handiwork. You squirm in place, finding that the corset and the cuffs offer very little room to do so. She shows her teeth, hooking her finger underneath the dangling chain and tugging on it until the burning bite of the nipple clamps makes you step forwards.

“I am a _very_ lucky Mistress, indeed,” she says approvingly. You duck your head shyly, abashed at her words, and she turns your face back towards her with her fingers under your chin. “My beautiful little pet. I should keep you like this every day.”

When she kisses you now, there’s nothing swift about it. Her teeth clash with yours, scraping your bottom lip painfully, her tongue tasting the roof of your mouth. It’s inelegant and forceful. She toys with the chain while she plunders your mouth, leaving you fighting for breath and whimpering into the merciless kiss, lit up with pain and utterly under her control.

With a final sharp nip to your bottom lip she releases you, but her fingers stay hooked around the chain. She nuzzles her nose into yours, the tenderness a sharp contrast to this cruel bondage.

“Say something nice,” she whispers, tugging the chain until you gasp.

“I love you, Mistress.”

“Hmm. That’ll do.” A chaste kiss to the tip of your nose and she turns her back, using the chain like a leash to guide you to walk at her heels and follow her back into the bedroom. “Come along, then, poppet. Just because I have to sit at the console all day, there’s no reason I should be _bored_.”

When Missy snatches a brocade throw pillow up from the bed so that you can kneel on it between her legs, saving your knees from the punishing metal floor of the console room, you know that it means _I love you, too._


End file.
